Draco's Sleeves
by alixxblack
Summary: Draco hates having this Dark Mark on his arm. That's why he keeps wearing long sleeves.


**House:** Ravenclaw

 **Year:** 7th Year (Standing in for Cat-Likes-Tea)

 **Category:** Themed (Redemption)

 **Prompt:** Sleeve

 **W/C:** 2,750

 **Notes:** Definitely some Post-Hogwarts AU content will follow.

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 **Read & Enjoy**

* * *

Men and women are swarming in every direction that he can see from the park bench. Everywhere he looks there's skin, exposed skin. He sees arms, legs, shoulders, and torsos. Women running around in the tiniest clothes he's ever seen, men running without a shirt at all. They feel good about their bodies, though, and once, he felt that same confidence.

That stopped when he was sixteen, though.

All of that stopped with the Dark Mark imprinted permanently on his arm.

"Malfoy?" some lady says behind him, but he doesn't turn straight away. Who would know him that's in London? It's a coincidence, he's sure of it. But whoever it is calls out his first name too, proving that it is decidedly not. "Draco Malfoy?"

He twists just enough to peak at the person trying to get his attention. He should've recognized the voice right away. Years were spent eavesdropping on her and her friends. With a low grumble, he greets her. "Hello, Granger."

"My god, Malfoy, why are you wearing pants and long sleeves?" It was strange enough to hear her calling his name with curiosity, but even more so to have her sort of mothering his wardrobe choices. "It has to be nearly thirty-five!"

He can't help but glance at her arm, scarred in a different way in the same place. She's worked some magic on it, of course, but it's still faint. Draco can still _read_ the branding his aunt gave her at Malfoy Manor. Eyes burning, tears that he doesn't even understand forming, he looks to the left so that he doesn't have to look at her directly. Maybe it'll look like he's assessing the weather?

"I just popped around for a bit of fresh air. It's back the Knockturn Alley after this," he remarks coolly, or at least he hopes that is how it sounds.

Granger laughs, joining him on the bench. Her proximity is painfully obvious and something churns in Draco's chest that is unrecognizable. Suddenly everything he does feels exaggerated, each breath seems to take an hour while every movement seems overdramatic. Just shifting so that he can somewhat look at her while she's talking feels like a whole production.

"It's hot there too, you twit," she laughs again. Why is she laughing? How can she be laughing with someone that would've literally seen her dead not five years ago? Draco hated her, _actually_ hated her. He thought she was the filthy Mudblood his parents made her out to be, because their word was gospel. That life was his entire personality.

Now he wishes he could erase all of it. "What do you even care, Granger?"

"It just seems kind of silly, doesn't it? Surely you own a pair of shorts, or maybe a short sleeve shirt at least?" She doesn't miss a beat when engaging in a conversation. Draco thought Weasley had complained about this when they were very young, but he'd not been fond of Granger then either. Even if it is mildly uncomfortable to be in such a fast-paced exchange, he has to admit some peace to be speaking to someone _new_ , someone who isn't _bitter._

Draco nods, "Plenty. I just don't wear them."

His eyes drop to his arm, and he moves his right hand over to his forearm. Squeezing, he tries to pretend that the Dark Mark isn't tucked under the white sleeve of his button up. Granger lets out a breath. "I understand, but you should at least wear shorts. Seriously, Malfoy, you could get heat stroke dressed like that."

She stands but lingers in front of him. When he finally rips is gaze away from his arm to her watchful eyes, Draco sees Granger for the first time clearly.

This is a woman that doesn't let someone's past mistakes continue dictating their future. This is a woman that overcame the adversity created by Voldemort's hatred. This is a woman that cares unconditionally for those who cannot care for themselves. This is a woman that doesn't fail because she doesn't care for the word. Hermione Granger is everything he wishes he could've been, but just never could come close.

Maybe she can wear short sleeves, exposing her scarred forearm, but what she has is a battle wound. In the end, she is a war hero, and she has no reason to be ashamed. Draco is not.

Draco has a nasty tattoo that serves as a reminder of his weakness. He uses her left fingers to tug the sleeve even further down his hand. Unsure what to do with himself now, feeling undeserving of her concern, he stands somewhat abruptly. It is only once he's standing that he realizes how close he is to Granger again. Barely more than six inches separate them.

"Thank you for caring, but I will be just fine," he says slowly and with calculation. Draco tries to make his words as dry and emotionless as possible as he speaks to her. Granger does something with her face that looks like it could be a smile but it almost seems like she's disappointed.

"You did the wrong thing for the right reasons, as I hear it, and you should try to remember that," she offers quietly, eyebrows wrinkling and lips frowning. There's nothing more to be said on the matter, though. Draco briskly walks away from her in a hurry, waiting for the perfect cover to apparate anywhere else but there.

* * *

Draco is walking out of Gringotts with his hands stuffed inside of his pockets. Inside of his head, he's running through the list of items he has to buy while in Diagon Alley. A few alchemy books, some potion supplies, more parchment and ink, plus he's craving strawberry ice cream and might make stop at the parlor.

Not paying much attention to the crowd around him, he doesn't even notice Hermione Granger standing in the doorway of Flourish & Blotts when he whips the door open, smashing the glass against her elbow. All of her books tumble to the floor as she cries out in pain. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

Draco all but drops to the ground to gather the books for her, stacking and avoiding eye contact with her very intentionally. He's not forgotten the last time he had a run in with Granger, and it makes him tug at his sleeve nervously again. Will she comment about his jeans and jacket? Will she criticize his choice to keep hiding the Dark Mark from himself?

"Did you have your bloody eyes closed?" she grumbles before crouching to help him. Without meaning to, he catches a glimpse of her next to him. Her hair is shorter, and she looks a bit tired. Each body movement is slow, as if the movements are taking the energy out of her entirely. Draco places his hand over hers before pushing her away. Submitting easily, Granger takes a seat on the nearest stair step.

Draco finally stands with her stack of books in his arms, leaning against his chest. "I was just going through the list of stops. I should've been looking."

Nodding her head, it seems that Hermione agrees. "Can you help me get these to the counter? I still have a few more I wanted to pick up, and I can barely manage these." They walk to the register in the middle of the shop, silence fill the space where conversation is supposed to be. Granger thanks him when he pushes her books onto the counter and then lets him go on his way.

Though, it is only for a short time, as they end up looking at some of the same books about ancient runes. "When did you take Ancient Runes?"

Draco smiles at her, politely and compassionately. Nothing he'd ever done warranted this sort of casual friendliness that she's extended to him. He did nothing to redeem himself of all the bullying he'd done to her. Even if he could ever be kind enough, helpful enough, or good enough, it wouldn't _feel_ like enough.

"I'm sorry, but could you stop it," he exhales in defeat. Draco does not deserve this. Granger should hate him. She should want to see him in Azkaban or worse. "You're a great person, Granger, and I know that now. But, please, don't waste that on me."

There's that laugh of hers again, he realizes, as she reaches out to hold his arm to keep herself steady. It's not a light sort of giggle, or even a deep chortle. This is just a continuous sort of maniacal laugh. For a second, Draco thinks that she's lost her mind. "Oh, Malfoy, I never would've guessed!"

He cocks his brow but leaves his arm, her hand still firmly planted on it. "Pardon me?" Granger steps into him, almost, and takes the book from his hand. She seems to be looking at the text, almost as if she's forgotten that he asked a question. Draco stands there awkwardly with her hand clasped around his arm and his eyes glued to the side of Granger's face.

"It's just that you're acting a bit like a martyr." He doesn't know that he likes that she's saying this, and it feels accusatory to a certain extent. In the end, though, he doesn't vocalize it. "I don't care if you think that you deserve kindness because I saw what you did in the war. I know what happened on the tower. You're a victim of the war, just like me."

Draco scoffs in reply. What does she mean that he's a victim? He was old enough to make a choice, old enough to reject Voldemort's request. He could have run away from home, his family. It would've made him a blood traitor, sure, but it would've been the right thing to do. Instead, he accepted his fate and executed parts of plans that ultimately resulted in the deaths of people he knew.

Granger seems to understand what he's thinking, or at least can pick up on the tension in his heart. Her thumb caresses him briefly before she lets go. "You don't have to prove yourself to anyone. The Ministry pardoned you. You are different from your father. You are different from the Death Eaters."

" _Why_ do you even care?"

She shrugs.

"I'm just saying, I know what it's like to make a mistake that hurts other people. I know what it's like to be branded as something I'm not. And, maybe, I feel really bad that you never had the chance to be _Draco_ Malfoy." It is here where she hands the book of runes back to him. He stiffens as he takes her hand off of his arm and then turns on her heel, only stopping to grab a book that catches her eye on her way back down the stairs. Draco expected her to say something more but she leaves.

It leaves him with that, though. He never got the chance to be _Draco_ Malfoy.

Initially, he wanted to ask her what that meant. How could he have ever been someone other than Draco Malfoy? He'd always been himself, and he'd never considered being anyone other than that until after the war.

Of course, she meant that it was the opposite. Draco had been pretending throughout his entire life. All he did was copy what he saw in his father, in his mother, and in his aunt. The purists influenced who Draco Malfoy was as a child, but he's an adult now. He gets to decide who Draco Malfoy is…

And maybe, if he works very hard at it, he can be worth the kindness Hermione Granger gives him when their paths cross…

* * *

Draco is wearing a grey short sleeve shirt beneath his blazer this evening. Only a couple of hours ago, he'd been awarded for his alchemic research findings on the various healing properties of crystals when imbued with magic that had been theorized by Nicholas Flammel. Some people say that he could recreate the Sorcerer's Stone, but he doesn't want to do give eternal life. He just wants to heal people; he wants to be a part of the driving force behind a better quality of life for the sick and broken.

Nerves leave him trembling as he hangs his blazer on a hook in the lobby of some fancy dining hall rented by the Ministry for this evenings festivities. Draco has to breathe through his anxiety before returning to the crowded room of people mingling. It's been six years since the war ended, and he still worries what people will think when they see the Dark Mark etched into his skin. He's removed the protection of a shirtsleeve; the barrier of fabric to hide a part of him that he can't erase from his past. Ready or not, it is time for him to move on from his self‑conscious hesitations.

Congratulations come and go wherever Draco wanders, and eventually he grows tired of the kind words. Taking up residence near the punch bowl, he opts to watch people dance around and enjoy their shots of whiskey and pints of butterbeer. Tonight is their night, really, since they've paid for it and arranged it all.

"Draco." It is Hermione Granger, as he expected it would be at some point throughout the evening, but he was not as prepared to speak to her as he would've liked to have been. Draco has been waiting for her to show up, his gratitude speech prepared and memorized in advance just for this occasion.

He reaches a hand out to her, his left specifically, and she takes it with hers. Draco sees their scars, their battle wounds, and recalls her comparison from Flourish & Blotts. They were alike, now that he knew who he was, and in the end – _they were both victims of circumstance._ Hermione Granger couldn't control that she was borne to Muggle parents no more than Draco Malfoy could control that he was borne to blood purists. "I understand a congratulations is on order," she breathes.

Draco uses wordless magic to draw up to glasses of champagne from a nearby server. Handing one to her, a smile twists onto his lips easily. It makes sense why Weasley had grown to love her in the end. Granger has something about her that is hard to ignore, something that makes it impossible not to like her.

"Maybe from them, sure," Draco starts. "Not from you. I should be thanking you for giving me the push I needed to get here. I am forever indebted to you for seeing something in me that I could not see in myself."

Granger meets his eyes, and they stare at one another for a long time. Neither of them speaks, so all they hear are people chattering in the background over the music flowing through the room. It must be an interesting sight to behold for the others but there's a sort of bubble keeping them separate from the celebration.

"You deserve the honor, Draco, and I'm so happy for you," she says, tilting her head with a tear falling over her cheek. Undoubtedly it is difficult to look at someone and see them as a changed person; and Draco is that, a changed man entirely. He wonders how much more redemption is left in his journey, but he doesn't think it will be Granger who can answer that question for him. It was never up to her, even if he wanted it to be. "Nice tattoo, by the way."

Draco looks down at his arm, sleeveless, and realizes that he'd forgotten about it even just for a few minutes. The magic of Hermione Granger, he supposes. When he meets her eyes again, her expression is full of life. Something feels very different between them, somehow. "You too."

"We should get a drink sometime, Draco," Granger suggests, watching someone in the crowd for a moment before turning her attending back to him. A hyperawareness returns, something very reminiscent of the day she sat with him on the park bench, and Draco relishes in it this time. It cannot stay this way forever and soon Granger sees someone else she wants to visit. As she begins to walk away, she makes one last remark. "Have a good time, okay? You really do deserve it."

"Thanks," he whispers, probably too low for her to even hear. "I will."

And, for the first time ever, Draco believes it.


End file.
